Tag Archives: Barnes & Noble

A Remarkable Real Estate Sale

When Walter Pitkin turned a 1700’s-era sea captain’s house on Main Street into a map and book store, it thrived.

But he sold it to a man who, Sidney Kramer said, “slapped your hand if you picked up a book.” Within a couple of years, business turned sour.

So in the early 1960s, when Sidney’s wife Esther looked to open a bookstore, the stars were aligned. The Kramers bought the property — on the corner of Parker Harding Plaza — and opened the Remarkable Book Shop.

“Remarkable” — the name not only described the store, but contained the name “Kramer” spelled backward — was an instant success.

The low ceilings and sloping wood floors gave it a funky charm. Esther and her band of loyal, learned employees — women like Esta Burroughs, Rita Engelbardt and Wendy Newton — stocked the shelves with an eclectic collection of bestsellers, classics, hard-to-find and one-of-a-kind releases, art and photography books, poetry, political manifestos, and nearly everything else.

They added funky gifts and posters. They painted the exterior a memorable shade of pink.

Large, comfy chairs invited lounging. When customers tore pages out of cookbooks, Esther put up a pad and pencil and invited people to copy recipes.

Eventually, Remarkable took over the space next door — Record Hunter. The Kramers — Sid was an attorney, literary agent and co-founder of Bantam Books — added space underneath, renting first to a barber, then a succession of gift shops.

The setup of the book store — with its warren of small rooms — made it warm and welcoming. But Sid calls the layout “a pain in the ass. We could never see our customers.”

Because the Kramers owned the building, they succeeded in the always-difficult book world. “If we had to pay rent, we probably wouldn’t have made it,” Sid — now 98, and with a razor-sharp memory — says.

This sign -- immortalizing the longtime owner -- was created by Westport artist Miggs Burroughs. His mother Esta was Esther's longtime second-in-command.

This sign — immortalizing the longtime owner, and incorporating the store’s whimsical mascot — was created by Westport artist Miggs Burroughs. His mother Esta was Esther’s longtime second-in-command.

But the arrival of Barnes & Noble marked the beginning of the end. The discount megastore siphoned off enough customers to force the Kramers to close. Paul Newman called, begging them to reconsider, but — after 34 years — the decision stood.

Nearly 20 years ago Talbots took over — a watershed moment in the Main Street march from mom-and-pop shops to chains.

Two years ago, Esther Kramer died. She was 93 years old.

Last year, Talbots consolidated its wares into the old Record Hunter wing.

Earlier this month, the Kramer family sold the 3,500-square foot building. It fetched $4.2 million.

That’s a lot of money.

But for Westporters of a certain age — who grew up in a certain era — the memories of Remarkable Book Shop are worth much, more more.

Taking Abbie Hoffman Literally

Westport’s finest had a busy day.

First, after a 2-hour pursuit they nabbed a man and woman accused of trying to fraudulently withdraw (aka “steal”) money.

The scene of the crime.

Soon they were on another case. Barnes & Noble reported 2 suspects stealing “large quantities of books,” and fleeing on foot.

The cops nailed the perps. They found the vehicle: a Jaguar with Georgia plates. Inside were $868 worth of books.

First, I congratulate the cops for their quick — and very effective — work.

Second, I’m impressed that thieves in Westport drive Jaguars.

Third, as an author I’m delighted that people come here to steal books.

I guess we’re still an artists’ colony after all.

Business Casual

Like many Westporters, I “do” a lot of meetings.

Like many Westporters without an actual “office,” I “do” them at the usual places: Starbucks, Barnes & Noble, the library.

Two weeks ago though, someone asked to meet at the Compo Beach brick pavilion, next to Joey’s by the Shore.

Last Sunday morning, someone else scheduled a meeting for the beach. This time it was the other pavilion, by the volleyball courts.

Both meetings were wonderful. Breezes blew, birds chirped — and stuff got done.

I can definitely get into this new meeting spot.

And you can’t beat the dress code.

A wonderful place for many things — including meetings. (Painting by Matthew Levine)

When Is A Starbucks Not A Starbucks?

Among Barnes & Noble’s many great features — comfy chairs, puzzles and games, CDs, Nooks, even a few books — one of the best is the Starbucks café.

It’s warm, welcoming, and highly caffeinated.

The other evening, I bought a coffee. (Regular. Small. Sorry, I don’t speak “Starbucks.”)

But when I went to pay with my Starbucks card, the woman baristette recoiled like I had handed her some used Dunkin Donuts toilet paper.

“This is not a Starbucks!” she said, coldly.

WTF?

“It’s a Barnes & Noble!” she explained, in a tone I would use with a dog that had just soiled my Persian rug, if I owned either one.

My bad! I can’t for the life of me imagine why I ever thought I was in a Starbucks.

Purple Feet, Nice Nails

Alert “06880” reader Terry Brannigan spotted this on the door of the old Purple Feet, next to Barnes & Noble. (The wine store has relocated to Playhouse Square.)

Fantastic news!

I keep saying, the one thing Westport lacks is one more nail spa.

Take that, Fairfield!

The Man In The Van

Yesterday, “06880” burbled about the owner of Coffee An,’ who raced into the parking lot to give $2 back to a customer he’d inadvertently overcharged.

Today we present the flip side: Westporters behaving badly.

An “06880” reader was driving down the narrow exit lane that runs in front of Pompanoosuc Mills and Angelina’s, on her way out of the Barnes & Noble parking lot.

She was leaving, that is, until she reached the cleaner’s. There, a large van was parked in the middle of the lane. Its emergency lights were flashing. Its driver was nowhere to be seen.

The woman tapped her horn. A man strolled to the door of the cleaner’s, then turned back to his conversation with the person behind the counter.

She tooted again. Again, he made no move to leave.

She honked a 3rd time. The man slowly walked out of the store, telling the woman: “Relax! Relax!”

She told him she was late for an appointment.

He replied, “You have no choice. If I don’t move, you can’t get out.”

Then he swaggered into the driver’s seat, and drove away.

Chances are, the man in the van is not an “06880” reader. Yet he — like all of us — must look in the mirror every day.

Does he like the face that looks back? I have no idea.

But I know the owner of Coffee An’ does.

Local Authors Find E-Publishing “A Godsend”

Westporter Richard Marek is no stranger to publishing.

He spent 40 years in the business, including a stint as president and publisher of E.P. Dutton. He discovered Robert Ludlum, edited 4 books by James Baldwin, and published people like Peter Straub and Richard Condon.

Richard Marek and Dalma Heyn. (Photo/Pam Barkentin Blackburn)

But when he and his wife, social commentator and author (The Erotic Silence of the American Wife) Dalma Heyn wrote their 1st book together, more than a dozen editors had strong suggestions.

All of them different.

Change the hero, one said.

Change the heroine, advised another.

Add more sex.

Take out some of the sex.

Exhausted, Richard and Dalma put A Godsend: A Love Story For Grownups in a drawer.

They thought there was a market for this tough-to-classify “love story for all of us who are no longer kids,” but the people who offer contracts and actually publish books were not so sure.

A year later, Richard and Dalma talked to David Wilk. The “head trickster” of Booktrix — a publishing consultancy firm — and son of noted Westporters Max and Barbara Wilk, David thought Godsend would be a good candidate for digital publishing.

David handled all the details. He got the book onto every popular e-reader: Kindles, Nooks, iPads.

Now Richard and Dalma are sitting back, waiting for the money to roll in.

Or not.

“I’ve published 3 books,” she says. “They all had advances. We’re not sure what will happen with this one.”

“No one knows how to make any money on ebooks,” he adds.

So why are they publishing this way?

“The industry is changing,” Richard notes. “After so many years in it, I’m fascinated to see how this works.”

“It’s a great book,” Dalma says. “It’s fun to see how this Wild West of publishing handles something like this.”

A Nook Simple Touch.

Without a standard publisher, e-book authors must handle all the marketing themselves.

“You have to be knowledgeable about the internet, and spend 17 hours a day at it,” she says. They’re not, and they aren’t.

But, according to Richard, the flip side of e-publishing is “your book never dies. When I was in business, books died after 3 months.”

With no shelf life — because there are no shelves — books can gain audiences slowly. Every Valentine’s Day, Dalma says, she and her husband will launch a new marketing campaign.

Of course, Richard and Dalma are doing a bit of old-fashioned marketing too: book talks. Tomorrow (Thursday, March 29, 7 p.m.) they’re at the Westport Barnes & Noble.

They’ll discuss their latest work. They’ll share insights on e-publishing.

They’ll also hold a drawing for a Nook Simple Touch.

So the winner can read A Godsend — and 2.5 million other books — without ever having to set foot in a bookstore again.

Crossing Borders

When the Fairfield Store closed in 1996, everyone wondered what would fill the gaping hole in the heart of downtown.

Borders did.

When that bookstore bid a bankrupt bye-bye last spring, the worries resurfaced.

Now comes news that Fairfield University will open a new, innovative bookstore there this fall.

A handsome gazebo sits in Fairfield center, not far from what will soon be an exciting retail replacement for Borders.

The “state-of-the-art” operation — an adjunct to Fairfield’s on-campus store — will carry course books, plus clothing sportswear, and gift items from both the college and Fairfield’s 2 high schools.

According to the Fairfield Minuteman, “one of the largest companies and the most valuable technology company in the world” will also share the space.

Can you say “Apple Store”?

And “one of the largest coffee-houses” in the US will also open up shop there.

This is “06880” — not “06824.”  So why waste valuable pixels reporting on something a couple of miles beyond our, um, borders?

Because we too have a big bookstore.  And even though Barnes & Noble is in no danger of bankruptcy — yet — comparisons are apt.

Unlike Fairfield, our chain store is not downtown.  In fact, it’s pretty far away, in one of our many stand-alone shopping centers.

It’s the type of place you don’t just wander into.  You have to plan to go there.

Fairfield skirted with disaster when the Fairfield Store — a long-time anchor — departed.  It lucked out when Borders arrived — though behind-the-scenes maneuvering probably had something to do with that “luck.”

Now — just a couple of months after Borders shut down — the high-profile property will once again pulse with activity.  Shoppers of all ages will come, linger — then wander up and down the lively downtown streets of Fairfield.

Once upon a time we had our own anchor:  Klein’s.  While the Fairfield Store sold clothing, Klein’s specialized in an eclectic mix of books, electronic equipment, stationery and other “department store” items.

But its role was the same.   It drew people in, kept them there — and benefited many other local merchants.  Its replacement — Banana Republic — is a big name in retail.

Yet it is also just another clothing chain, on a street swamped with similar stores.

Sometime (relatively) soon, the Y will decamp for its new home.  The hole it leaves will be as significant as when first the Fairfield Store, then Borders, departed.

Promises have been made that the Y will be replaced by an exciting mix of commercial, residential and office properties.

We shall see.

We’ll see whether the most important old/new building in downtown Westport draws a diverse crowd, from within our borders and beyond.

Or whether everyone keeps heading to Fairfield for exciting stores, restaurants and fun.

No Returns, No Sense

So it’s the day after Christmas, and all through the house, people are stirring…getting ready to return the presents they got yesterday that they already have, don’t want, or just plain suck.

If one of those gifts comes from Barnes & Noble, though, you may be out of luck.

The mega-bookstore accepts returns only if you’ve got a gift receipt.  No slip, no way.

No returns here -- unless you've got a gift receipt.

I’m sorry, but if I were either Mr. Barnes or Mr. Noble — with my long-time core product (actual books) sinking faster than the New York Giants did against Philadelphia — I’d welcome anything that drew customers to my store.

Think about it:  You’re selling books, not designer dresses or silver picture frames inscribed with the recipients’ initials.  You thank the returnee, give him credit — not cash — and sent him on his way.

One of 3 things happens:

  • He forgets about it.  You’ve got another book to sell — pure profit.
  • He uses part of his credit, but not all.  You still come out ahead, when you sell the book he returned.
  • He uses all his credit, then buys several more items he would never have purchased had he not set foot in the store.

But none of that happens if I — I mean, he — can’t return a book I’ve he’s already read.

Don’t try Borders, either.  They’ve got the same anti-customer, anti-profit policy.

Barnes & Noble’s Big Lie

The sign is as direct as can be:

Barnes & Noble

“Listen to Any CD in the World.”  It doesn’t get much clearer than that.

I had my doubts.  “Any CD in the World” covers a lot of territory.  Even Shazam misses a song now and then.

I looked for an asterisk, maybe some telltale teeny-tiny small print.  Nothing.

I took a picture.  A Barnes & Noble guy walked over.  I explained my doubt.

“Oh no,” he said, looking corporately pained.  “Have you tried it?  Just type in anything.  We don’t have to have it in the store.  It gets everything.”

I strolled into the CD department..  I’ve only used the 1990s-era listening devices to sample 30-second snippets of in-stock music, via bar codes.  A helpful clerk showed me how to type in the name of “any CD in the world.”

I was thinking they might have missed a CD or 2 in Djibouti, or perhaps Papua New Guinea.  But I decided to start with an easy one.

I typed in “Midi and the Modern Dance.”  They’re a local band with a strong following — and a CD on iTunes.  Surely, a Westport store with “any CD in the world” would have Westport music.  Right?

Wrong.

Nothing.

I turned plaintively to the clerk.

“It says ‘Any CD in the World,'” I complained.

She laughed.  “That sign’s a lie.  There’s tons of stuff it doesn’t have.  I can’t believe the sign is still there.”

Neither can I, Barnes & Noble.  Neither can I.